The Sea is Boiling Hot
by MissTempleton
Summary: Jack and Phryne are sailing back from London to Melbourne. It would be ridiculous to expect murder or other mayhem to accompany them on the way.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Chief Inspector! How very thoughtful of you to come and see us off!" The Honourable Phryne Fisher's smile was broad as she turned from supervising two long-suffering porters on the dockside of the Port of London to greet Alastair Warren.

"Phryne, my dear, it's purely out of self preservation – I need to make sure you've safely left the country. Please don't get me wrong – I've sent a whole wallet of documents to Jack's Chief Commissioner, which will hopefully ensure that he gets a warm welcome when he returns; but the pair of you do rather seem to be magnets for murder, and if you could do your best to wait until you return home to become involved in any more, both I and the Peninsular and Oriental will be immensely grateful."

He turned to Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, who was trying to help an illiterate but willing porter spot the patterns in the label "Wanted On Voyage". He hid a grin. "Talking of crime, I understand you meant to steal one of these, Jack, but I think we should start as we mean to go on, so consider it a gift?"

Jack accept the package quizzically, but quickly guessed its contents when he saw the smart Savoy wrapping. Snapping the ties, he peered into the bag. A fresh bread roll.

Warren and Phryne were witness to that very rare treat – Jack Robinson laughing out loud.

"Thank you, Chief Inspector, for helping me on my road back to a law abiding life," he remarked solemnly, and shook Warren's hand warmly. "Now, if only I can ditch Phryne, I might even be allowed back in to Australia with no more than a stern caution and a few years' hard labour."

"Oh, come on, Jack! You'll need me to vouch for you with the Chief Commissioner of Victoria!" she chided him. "After all," she reminded him archly, "his wife is a personal friend who has invited me round for tea." Smugly, she patted Jack on the arm, and held out her hand to Warren.

"Alastair, I'm sorry we've been so troublesome, but I hope we've also been some help; and I very much hope this isn't the last we see of each other." She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, which gratified him enormously – especially as the constable driving him that day saw it happen, meaning that it would be around Scotland Yard as soon as they returned that The Old Man Still Had It.

Then she took Jack's arm and they walked up the gangplank. The Purser greeted them at the top. "Good morning sir, ma'am. Could I perhaps have your tickets and passports? Thank you so much – ah – Mr and Mrs Robinson?" His question was delicately posed. They were sharing a cabin, and Mrs Robinson's passport appeared to be in the name of Fisher.

"Quite right, officer" Phryne smiled cheerfully. "My passport has to remain in my stage name, it makes life so much easier." The smile unleashed in this regard was the 100 watt version, and Jack was entertained by its effect on the hapless officer's knees.

"Lovely," said the Purser. Only Jack was certain about the reason for the precise choice of word. He sympathised. The Purser so far forgot himself as to leave his post and escort Phryne to the stairs, expressing concern that she would be comfortable, that she would be sure to let him know if there was anything she needed, and that he would look forward to seeing her at dinner that evening. Oh, and Mr Robinson too, of course. Phryne glowed. Jack enjoyed himself enormously watching another man be laid low by her charm, holding off until the Purser bethought himself of his duty to the other passengers; at which point Jack swept in with an unassuming arm for the shameless trollop (as he described her, _sotto voce_ ) to help her up the stairs.

Entirely unabashed, she grinned. "Sorry, couldn't resist." They made their way along the corridors to the cabin they'd been assigned, and found it to be apparently the precise mirror image of the one they'd occupied a few weeks previously. Jack stopped at the doorway, while Phryne wandered across to the window, opening it to step out on to the balcony. For a few minutes, they silently explored this strangely familiar space; Jack, by eye with his back to the closed door, Phryne by touch and memory.

"Jack?" she called over her shoulder. She was standing with her hands on the balcony rail, and he walked out to stand behind her, one hand each side of hers, his body flanking her.

 _Look after her, Jack_.

Together, they scanned the view of London from the upper deck of the ship, and found it beautiful; or perhaps it was the company that did the trick.

"Can you see St Paul's?" Phryne asked. "It's a shame we didn't visit it. It's so beautiful, and the dome has a Whispering Gallery – you can be heard perfectly from the opposite side. We could have played whispering games."

Jack's gaze scanned the London skyline, and identified the distinctive dome. Then he dipped his head. "Like this, you mean?" he breathed in her ear.

Phryne agreed that was exactly the kind of thing she'd had in mind, and asked if he could please repeat the experiment as soon as the porters had finished delivering their trunks. He politely agreed that he would try to spare the time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

As the ship was piloted majestically out of the Thames Estuary, the passengers dressed for dinner, and Phryne and Jack agreed their story. They would be: married, rather than have to explain why they were not; in his case, reverting to his Research Analyst persona: he'd barely scratched the surface of the cases he could use as conversation points; in hers, a stage performer of an undisclosed nature.

This character was definitely one of Phryne's favourites, because it allowed her unlimited capacity to become lewd and suggestive if anyone became offensively curious. Stratagems in the past had included "Well, no, I don't usually find learning the lines a problem – it's the blocking that has me stumped" and "After my last role, the doctor has given me strict instructions only to undertake light exercise; so I have to do a routine of physical jerks every morning. Alcohol's fine, though, apparently" [delivered with a sunny smile].

Thus armed, they made their way down to dinner. They had, it transpired, been seated at the Purser's table; neither of them could imagine for a moment why that would be.

Their fellow passengers were an odd combination of industry and adventure. The loudest person at the table was most certainly Vernon Duval, whose fortune (he had no hesitation in explaining to all those present) had been made in textiles. More specifically, he had done very nicely indeed out of the war; he'd been a supplier for British uniforms.

Phryne politely suggested that less replacement requirement would have been nice, neatly heading off Jack's less temperate response.

Mr Duval's wife and daughter appeared utterly unmoved by his distressingly gauche conversation – it soon became clear that they were inured to his behaviour. Mrs Duval was pleasant, but colourless; one could divine the trophy beauty she had been in the porcelain figurine she now was. Miss Duval ("call me Angie, everyone does") was in her father's mould, but with a tenderness for her mother's sensibilities her father plainly lacked.

The seventh person at their table instantly hit it off with Phryne. Miss Constance Connor turned out to be a seasoned traveller who, as her parents' sole beneficiary, was concentrating on spending the not inconsiderable inheritance they had left her in seeing the world. Dinner was, however, almost broken up before it began by the arrival of the eighth guest at the Purser's table.

David Bennett was, at first appearance, an unassuming gentleman, unexceptionally dressed and polite to everyone around him.

The fact that Mr Duval glared and rose to his feet at the man's arrival, flinging his napkin to the floor, had an understandably cooling effect on the Purser's guests. His pronouncement that he "wouldn't break bread with that … that _oily swine_ " did, admittedly, make things a touch awkward for a moment. A meeting of minds between Phryne, Mrs Duval and Constance Connor, however, swiftly rearranged the seating so that the two gentlemen were at opposite sides of the table, separated from view by the vast candelabra, and the party was finally able to be seated.

With the still-fuming Mr Duval on her left and the still-oleaginous Purser on her right, Phryne's evening was not one of unmitigated joy, and she looked with more than a touch of envy at Jack and Miss Connor, who were chatting animatedly. Conversation was sparser between Mr Bennett and his neighbours, Mrs and Miss Duval, but it was at least friendly – in fact, Phryne's sharp eyes noticed, very friendly indeed between the two younger people; his dark head and her fair one were frequently bent towards one another.

It was with some relief that she rose from the table at the end of the meal, and joined Jack to return to their cabin.

"Never again, Jack!" she sighed as they strolled along an empty promenade deck. "I've quietly suggested to the Purser that he rejigs the seating plan for the remainder of the voyage, there's clearly no love lost between Duval and Bennett – or between Duval and anyone, come to that. _Odious_ man!"

"I felt for you" he said, slipping a hand round her waist and pulling her close. "I was itching to slug the man for most of the meal. Thank goodness for Miss Connor and her travel stories." His lips brushed her temple; she raised her face to his and returned his kiss, whose urgency built more quickly than either of them expected. Breaking away, Jack grabbed her hand and they ran the rest of the way back to the cabin, Phryne giggling deliciously until he slammed the door behind them, at which point the desire to laugh vanished altogether.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

As the ship steamed across the Bay of Biscay and around Gibraltar, Jack and Phryne quickly settled into what had to be termed a halcyon existence.

For a start, no-one died. This was, they both agreed, unusual, but probably a good thing (Alastair Warren would definitely be happy); yet lesser mortals would almost certainly have faded into torpor in the face of such enforced quiet living. Not Jack, though, and certainly not Phryne. They braved Deck Tennis. They plundered the ship's surprisingly well stocked library. They (Phryne said) wowed the crowds with their quickstep after dinner one night. Jack's version of events was more along the lines of not falling over either his own feet or hers, and the crowds were largely oblivious to the whole event; but he couldn't deny that dancing with Phryne was an especial joy.

They also danced in private, and not necessarily on their feet. That was also an especial joy.

Marseilles came, and Jack took Phryne back to the bookshop and the restaurant he had visited on the day she turned up out of the blue, and turned his life from grey to gold. They spent long hours over pastis at a pavement café, looking out for people they knew; then decided that they probably just hadn't met the right people yet.

As a quasi-anniversary, they decided not to dine with the other passengers that night.

They did, however, dine at the Captain's table more than once, and both enjoyed the experience enormously. Captain Hollister proved to be highly intelligent, with a particular love of English literature; he and Phryne spent an entire entrée discussing the symbolism of Alice in Wonderland and what, precisely, would be the issues in trying to play croquet with a flamingo.

So, to the Suez Canal; and the heat set in, in earnest.

On the second night after they reached the Red Sea it was too hot to sleep. By around six, Phryne gave up the battle and slipped on a swimsuit and favourite Chinoiserie robe. Picking up her current novel, she kissed Jack's shoulder blade, and reflected that such a gesture would have had her dragged back to bed only a few weeks since. On this sultry morning, their easy familiarity warranted only a sleepy half-smile and a gentle snore. Bound for the cooler breezes of the lido deck, she closed the door quietly.

Settling herself on a steamer chair in a shady corner, she noticed that there was a similar sufferer already arrived; his method had clearly been to seek the pool itself, where he lay full length on a lightweight surf board. She debated taking a similar approach – trailing ones arms and toes like that in the cool water would be blissful – but decided that the sun was already making its presence felt, and elected for shade.

Within the hour, the poolside was already starting to fill up. One hearty swimmer decided to put in some proper exercise, and pounded up and down the pool, neatly avoiding the supine surfboard occupant.

Lowering her sunglasses for a moment, Phryne considered him again. His shoulders were definitely turning a dark shade of pink, and he was going to be in some pain if he didn't take shelter soon. It would be charitable to go and wake him up, she supposed. It was a pity she was so comfortable …

As if she had put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, Jack appeared in her line of sight.

"Good morning, Mrs Robinson" he said, inclining his head politely.

"Mr Robinson," she responded equally formally. Given that he was also dressed to swim, their society manners were ludicrously inappropriate, but old habits died hard. "Lovely to see you," (she paused to offer another quick dip of the sunglasses in recognition of the vision of manliness before her) "and especially just as I was wondering what to do about helping a suffering fellow passenger."

"Oh?" he enquired. "Anything I can do?"

"As a matter of fact, yes – if your current state of undress is meant to show that you don't mind getting wet? That chap on the surfboard's been asleep for more than an hour, and he's already starting to burn. I think the poor lamb's going to be in pain anyway, but he should definitely be woken up and brought into the shade."

Jack glanced across at the gentleman in question.

"Good idea. Will do." In a couple of paces he was at the poolside, and dove in neatly. Surfacing not far from the sunbather, he swam to his side, and stood to lay a cautious hand on the man's shoulder. Eliciting no response, he moved round to look into the man's face. As Phryne watched, his expression changed suddenly. He looked up at her, and shook his head slightly.

Understanding instantly what had befallen, she jumped up and hurried to find a steward. Quietly, she explained that there was a gentleman in the pool who was very ill, and could in fact have died. The steward's horror was palpable, and he was clearly nonplussed. She told him firmly but quietly to go and find a colleague to fetch the ship's doctor, and then to calmly close the pool area for "cleaning". He stuttered agreement, and hurried off.

Jack, meantime, was pulling the surfboard to the edge of the pool. Phryne strolled over to him, and crouched to speak in low voice.

"Dead?"

"Almost certainly. God knows how. We need to secure the scene. And get the doctor. And the Captain."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Phryne straightened for a moment. Moving in a slow circle, she made a careful study of the dozen or so people seated around the pool. They weren't wanted now – she knew that no-one had interfered with the body while she'd been there – but they might be later. Then she squatted down again beside Jack.

"Doctor's on his way. When my hapless steward comes back and has closed the area, I'll send him for the Captain. I think I've mostly got a take on who's poolside, but because I was here first, it probably doesn't matter much. Have a glance round yourself and try to remember some faces." Jack did so. Then turned back to his burden.

"How did it happen?" asked Phryne.

"Can't say. Eyes are open, but no blood, no bruising, nothing."

As Jack's muttered shorthand petered out, the ship's doctor came hurrying out to the poolside. As the steward started quietly and apologetically asking guests to leave, he strode over to Jack and Phryne.

"What's happened?" he asked. He was very young, thought Phryne. Probably took the job to see the world, not to carry out a post mortem. He had the sense, though, to keep his voice down.

"We don't know," Jack said. "I'm Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of Melbourne Police Force, and I was going to wake the gentleman because Miss Fisher noticed he was becoming sunburned. But I'm fairly sure he's dead."

By this time, the steward was shepherding the last few grumbling passengers away from the area. Phryne beckoned him over.

"You're going to need to find the Captain too, I'm afraid."

He nodded nervously, and scurried away.

Jack looked at Phryne.

"Miss Fisher, do you think you might be able to balance one side of the board, if the doctor and I lift it out? I think it could be important to preserve the state of the body as it is."

Nodding, she slipped off her robe and slid into the water. Jack took the top of the board, and Phryne and the doctor the foot, and between them they managed to lift it on to the poolside without tipping off its literally deadweight contents.

Then Captain Hollister arrived.

"Carstairs, what's happening and who are these people? Oh, Mr and Mrs Robinson. Forgive me. But …"

Phryne took pity on him.

"Captain, I'm sorry, we happened to be here to make the discovery, and I'm afraid we both have confessions to make. Jack isn't really a researcher – he tends to find that telling people on a P&O liner that he's a policeman can rather stop the conversation. Presenting Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of Melbourne's finest, and The Honourable Phryne Fisher, Private Detective – both at your service to whatever degree you find you need us, and happy to fade quietly into the background if we're not required. Discretion assured."

"Oh." The Captain digested this information. "Er …. Thank you."

And clearly bethought himself of another minor issue.

"Does this also mean that … I don't quite know how to say this … you're not, er …."

"Not actually husband and wife, no, Captain." Phryne cast down her eyes; Jack was equally adept at finding anywhere to look other than at the gentleman whose table he'd been adorning regularly for the past couple of weeks.

There was another pause. When Phryne looked up, she realised Hollister had been waiting for her to do so.

"An excellent and convincing deception, if I may say so." Jack's jaw fell open, and closed sharply. The matter apparently closed to his satisfaction, Hollister turned to his doctor.

"Right, Carstairs. We're more than a day's sail from the nearest port and I'm not sure I trust the jurisdiction I'd find when I got there. That being the case, I want to know what I'm up against. Is the gentleman dead?"

Carstairs looked at his Captain for a moment like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Then, all of a sudden, he collected himself, and behaved for all the world like a moderately confident student in a viva exam (which, in fairness, was the last time he'd been faced with such a question). Requesting assistance to turn the body over, he checked the usual signs and confirmed what they already knew. With only slightly shaky voice, he replied in the affirmative. The Captain considered for a moment, then cleared his throat.

"Miss Fisher, Inspector; I am not aware of any _other_ professionals in criminal investigation on board my vessel, and as such, would be grateful for any assistance you can render me or my doctor in establishing the cause of death of this passenger. Am I right in thinking, by the way, that this is our industrialist, Mr Duval?"

"Yes" replied Jack tersely.

"We must all hope that his death was by natural causes," said the Captain.

Doubtfully. He had, after all, met Duval.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The body, on the Captain's instructions, was stretchered to the ship's hospital, and Dr Carstairs instructed to use his best endeavours to establish cause of death. As they turned to leave him to it, Phryne hesitated.

"Jack?" He looked at her enquiringly. "Look at his arms."

Jack looked back at the body. And noticed that the arms were reddened, from the hands up to the middle of the upper arm. Jack's brow furrowed. Moving to the foot of the table, he raised the sheet. The feet were also reddened to about half way up. Their eyes met.

"Sunburn?" he suggested doubtfully.

"Perhaps ..." she replied equally doubtfully. "Or something in the water? How hot can a seawater pool be?"

"Whatever it was, it had gone by the time I went in. It was the cold salt water I expected, nothing else."

"I want to find the chap who was swimming this morning before you arrived, but he wasn't showing any obvious signs of pain."

He gave her an Old Fashioned look.

She gave him an Old Fashioned look back.

"He was the only person swimming at six thirty in the morning, Jack. It was worthy of watching when I was taking a break from Jane Austen. Miss De Bourgh is not my idea of a heroine."

He smirked. He'd succeeded in putting her on the defensive about her behaviour – a rare joy.

Carstairs, too, was taking a second look at the marks.

"They do look like burns ..." he remarked. "But they're different to the burns on his back, I think. It doesn't look like sunburn. Thank you, I'll examine both closely." He was showing his true colours now – allowed to simply deal with the body and not the authorities, he was confident again. And clearly wanted his professional space uncluttered by petty humanity. Phryne registered the contrast and shepherded Jack and Hollister out of the room.

Closing the door behind her, she said quietly, "I think Dr Carstairs will do very well left to himself. Captain, is there somewhere the body can be stored when he's finished?"

Hollister mused.

"It will have to be one of the food storage units. Chef won't be happy. I hope you like seafood, Miss Fisher, there may be rather a lot of it on the menu tonight."

He then collected his thoughts, and turned to Phryne.

"Miss Fisher, I have a delicate task to perform and I would be grateful if you could assist me."

Phryne nodded. "Mrs Duval? Give me fifteen minutes, Captain, and I'll change and meet you … in the Verandah Café on B Deck?" He nodded gratefully.

"I'll go and have a – differently – difficult chat about refrigerator space and see you shortly."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Jack accompanied Phryne back to the cabin, and helped her change. They agreed he shouldn't try to come along to talk to Mrs Duval, but grasped the opportunity to compare notes in their own unique shorthand. Phryne started, while rapidly changing into garb more appropriate for breaking the news to a new widow.

"Everyone hated him".

"Doesn't make him a murder victim. We don't even know it was murder."

"How long had he been there?"

"She …." a short pause while Phryne walked naked to the dressing room. Recollection of the rest of his sentence " … should know."

"Other enemies?" she asked as she presented her zip for him to fasten. Sighing at the wasted opportunity, he obliged; the use of both hands to encompass her waist in the process was purely for research, and didn't warrant the slap they received.

"Even if she knew, would she name them?"

"Don't know. Do I tell her who I am?"

That zinger did need a pause. And another, before gently. "No. You have to carry on the lie until she needs to know of it. We chose an identity for convenience and we can't drop it on the off chance we get burned – or even singed. Warn Hollister."

A colder meeting of the eyes than they had ever had. Then Phryne accepted it, and as though with a snap of the fingers, moved on. He knew better than to imagine the challenge wasn't buried deep.

"The daughter?"

"Strong personality,"

"Very keen on the man her father hated, I thought," Phryne pointed out, slipping on practical sandals with a smart buckle.

"Need to know why."

Bending briefly at the mirror, she applied lipstick, then straightened and turned to face him.

"Quite." A brief, brittle flash of smile. "Off I go, then."

She whirled out of the room, leaving him gazing pensively into air which suddenly seemed more oppressive and less oxygenated than it was before.

In the Verandah Café, she found Hollister listening patiently to a man in the brown overall of a tradesman. Catching sight of Phryne, he excused himself and came over to her.

"Ship's carpenter," he explained briefly. "I wanted to ask him how we would be positioned for a burial at sea, and was rewarded with a rant about how he could be expected to do any work at all when people are stealing his equipment." She smiled sympathetically.

"What's he missing?"

"His work lamp. I expect the engineers have it. Oh, the petty politics of shipboard life!" he sighed, as they descended the stairs.

Hollister stood at her shoulder as Phryne tapped lightly on Mrs Duval's door. It was still shy of eight o'clock, and Phryne worried that the woman would still be asleep. She was thankful when shuffling sounds soon led to the door being opened slightly.

Rhonda Duval had appeared porcelain at dinner; in the light of early morning, she was a less flattering china doll.

"Mrs Robinson? …. Captain? …" she trailed confusedly.

"Mrs Duval, I'm sorry." Phryne half moved into the doorway. "Could we possibly come in for a moment? I realise it's horribly early, but there's something we need to talk about."

Why, thought Phryne, was there no better way to say these things? We should discuss? I have to tell you? Sorry, missus, it's your husband, he's not going to be needing his cufflinks any more? Her heart, once more, went to Jack. Suddenly she understood the reason for the chill that had come over them. It was a message he'd had to deliver not once, but hundreds of times; and he hadn't had the luxury of a face to face conversation.

Hundreds of letters starting 'I am sorry to inform you'. And the words that a commanding officer would include – must include – to describe the last moments of a man he'd cared for as family. He was an inspiration. He lifted us all with his spirits. He was a good soldier. How long did he spend, in a blasted dugout, crafting letters about his army family who were all, to a man, Good Soldiers?

Straightening her spine, she said to Mrs Duval,

"I'm so very sorry. Mr Duval was found dead this morning."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

No screaming, no wailing; Mrs Duval was composed, but sat suddenly on the edge of her bed as though her legs had given way beneath her.

"How?" the single word came as a sharp exhalation.

"We don't yet know," replied Hollister. "The ship's doctor is currently examining the body."

Phryne took her hand. "Would you like us to fetch your daughter, Mrs Duval?"

"Yes … yes please," she whispered. Her hand was shaking, and Phryne gently suggested that she return to bed for a short while. Hollister left to find Miss Duval, and Phryne helped the stricken woman remove her robe and climb under the sheets.

She looked up at Phryne.

"He was a horrible man, Mrs Robinson. I won't weep for him – I don't think anyone will."

Before Phryne could respond to that rather shocking statement, the door flew open and Angie Duval rushed in.

"Mother, what's wrong? The Captain said you needed me."

"Darling, it's Father. He's dead."

Phryne watched carefully for Angie's reaction. Her eyes widened in shock, but again, no sign of sadness. "Dead? How? His heart?"

Phryne responded to the question. "The doctor is still trying to establish the cause, Miss Duval. Did he have heart problems?"

Angie nodded. "He's had a weak heart for years. He was taking digitalis. The doctor always tried to get him to change his diet as well, but there was no telling Father what to do." She sat on the bed beside her mother and took her hand.

Phryne went to the door. "I'll leave you both to get some rest," she said. "Please, if there's anything I can do to help, you must ask." The two women thanked her, and she closed the door gently behind her.

Debating for a moment, she returned first to her own cabin, hoping Jack would still be there.

She opened the door, and saw him standing on the balcony; he turned as she entered. Unhesitating, she walked across the cabin and straight into his arms. Content simply to hold and be held for a few moments, she buried her face in his chest. Then turning her head, rested her cheek there and said quietly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he replied. Tipping her chin up with his finger, he kissed her – a benediction.

"Why do you put up with me, Jack?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't know," he pretended to ponder. "It's probably just your warm heart – your generosity – your courage – your loyalty" each attribute was now being rewarded with another kiss, "oh, and that noise you make when ….." at which point she took his face in both hands and did her best to shut him up in the only truly effective way she knew.

It worked so well they missed breakfast altogether.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Venturing forth again an hour later, Jack and Phryne decided to go back to the hospital and see how Carstairs was faring. Who knew – the information on Duval's weak heart might be important.

He had, it transpired, already worked it out for himself, but was perplexed by another factor.

"I don't quite know what to make of this," he said. "It was when I checked inside his mouth. You perhaps don't want to see, but he had bitten his tongue so hard that it was almost severed – there was, in fact, a lot of blood in his mouth, but it was so tightly closed that none leaked out. You're right, though, I'm almost certain that it was heart failure."

He looked at them both. "Also, the burn marks don't look like sunburn. The effect on the skin of his back, and on the arms and feet, is quite different."

"I'm not sure that gets us anywhere, mind you."

Phryne gave a start. "Jack! I might have got it!" she turned to them both excitedly.

"What if it was an electric shock that killed him?"

Carstairs eyed her with new respect. He nodded slowly. "A current in the pool water, you mean? That would certainly fit. Especially the fact that he had his arms in the water. The current would pass straight across his heart. Yes." Then he frowned. "But where would the current come from? A lightning strike?"

"Not last night," said Jack. "No, I think we're looking for a deliberate introduction of something electrical into the water." He turned for the door. "I want another look at the poolside."

He escorted Phryne out of the door, and together they returned to the swimming pool. The "closed for cleaning" sign was still in place, so the area was deserted.

Jack looked around the area, searching for electrical sources. A row of decorative lights slung from pillars caught his eye, but were dismissed – too high to reach with any subtlety. Phryne walked slowly round the edge of the pool, looking for any signs of disturbance. Their eyes met.

"Anything?"

"No."

Stumped, they leaned against the hatch which stored life jackets.

It moved slightly.

Their looked at each other, and in unison, turned and lifted the hatch.

"Bingo," breathed Phryne.

There, on top of the piles of life jackets, lay a long cable, on the end of which was a standard workman's lamp.

With the bulb removed.

"Whatever I wouldn't give for a fingerprint kit right now," groaned Jack.

"Oh, Jack, that's easy! We would just need some cocoa powder from the kitchens. Surely, though, the murderer wouldn't be so foolish as to leave prints?" He took out his handkerchief and carefully lifted the lamp out by its protective cage. Scanning the handle, he grimaced.

"I'm afraid you're right. It was too much to hope for."

"We've got our murder weapon now, though," Phryne said determinedly. "And I think it's time we had a chat with Bennett. Don't you?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Stopping only to put the lamp in their cabin for safekeeping, they headed for the Bridge and requested a word with Hollister. The captain was impressed with the progress they had made, but the existence of a murderer on board his ship was not something he could take lightly.

"Mrs Duval will have to be told."

"Don't worry, Captain – we will do that. Now that it's definitely a murder investigation, I think we have to move a little more quickly. When does the ship dock in Aden?"

"The day after tomorrow," he replied.

"We can't risk having the murderer escape when we dock, so we'll have to get our skates on," Phryne remarked. "Jack, let's see if Mrs Duval knows what time her husband went to the pool last night. Then we can ask Bennett what his movements were. And Angie, come to think of it."

Together, they descended to Mrs Duval's cabin. Angie opened the door to their knock.

"Mr and Mrs Robinson?" she was clearly puzzled by their presence.

"Miss Duval, may we come in? We have some more information about your father's death.

As she spoke, Phryne was already walking into the cabin. Mrs Duval was up and dressed, and turned to speak to them from her seat at the dressing table.

"Is there more news?"

Phryne crossed to stand beside her.

"Yes, and I'm afraid I have to tell you that we are now certain that your husband was killed deliberately."

At this, Mrs Duval went white. Her daughter rushed to her side.

"Killed? You mean he was murdered? How do you know?"

Jack replied, "We believe he was electrocuted. The condition of his body led us to suspect that it was so, and we have since discovered what we believe to be the weapon used."

Angie swallowed hard.

"You've …. been very busy, Mr Robinson. I must ask whether you also have any idea who might have done this thing?"

"Not yet, Miss Duvall, no, but with my … research … background, the Captain has asked me to see if I can find out more." He looked back at her mother. "To start with, Mrs Duvall, it would be helpful to know when your husband went to the pool. Dr Carstairs has done his best, but in this heat, it's hard to be very precise."

Mrs Duvall glanced at her daughter, and drew a deep breath.

"I'm afraid I can't help you there, Mr Robinson. Vernon would quite often get up in the night and go to the pool to cool down – I became so accustomed to it that I'm afraid he didn't wake me."

Phryne looked at her. "So he'd done this before?"

"Oh yes," she replied. "Ever since we reached Suez, he'd been struggling to sleep. He would go and swim to cool down, or just float on a surfboard. I think he even fell asleep like that once."

"Did he ever meet anyone on these nocturnal swims, do you know?" asked Jack.

"I have no idea. He never mentioned meeting anyone."

Phryne glanced over at Angie. "Miss Duval, would you come for a walk with me?"

Faintly surprised, but not quite knowing how to refuse, Angie acquiesced and the two of them left the cabin. Jack followed on behind, but turned away immediately – Phryne guessed he was off in search of David Bennett.

Phryne strolled along the promenade deck, and asked calmly, "So tell me – Angie – what is it between you and Mr Bennett?"

For a moment, she could tell that Angie was going to deny any relationship. Then she caught her eye, and raised a single eyebrow. Angie's shoulders fell in defeat.

"Oh, all right, if you must know – we're engaged to be married."

Utterly unsurprised, Phryne followed up. "And your father's view of this engagement?"

"He didn't know. He would never have countenanced it. He hated David." The words were heated.

"But surely, you didn't need his consent?" Phryne asked. "You're of age?"

"He had it in his power to utterly ruin David. David owns a woollen mill. Wonderful cloth, very high quality. Father was his largest customer for many years, and then they fell out a few months ago. All over a faulty batch, which lost Father a huge order from one of the department stores. Father lost money on it, but David stands to lose everything – he's so much smaller, and relied on Father's business." She shrugged her shoulders hopelessly. "There was nothing to be done – marrying me would have rendered David bankrupt, without question."

Angie looked up at Phryne, and said in a clear, calm voice.

"That's why I killed Father."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Jack ran David Bennett to earth in one of the bars, toying with the olive in a martini. Catching the steward's eye, he ordered a cold beer, and sat down next to the young man.

Bennett looked at him vaguely, then recognition dawned.

"Robinson. How are you?"

"I'm fine, but – forgive me – I need to ask you a few questions, Mr Bennett."

Bennett furrowed his brow. "Me? About what?"

"I take it you will have heard that Mr Duval died last night?" Jack asked.

"Angie told me," Bennett said. "I hope you're not going to ask whether I'm mourning him. Believe me, if my purse ran to it, this would be champagne."

"We've discovered that he was murdered."

At this, he had Bennett's undivided attention.

"What? How?"

"Electrocuted. Caused heart failure," replied Jack succinctly. "So, tell me about you and Miss Duval?"

At that, he was the recipient of a very angry look.

"By what right do you get to ask that kind of prurient nonsense?" he growled.

"By the right specifically granted me by the Captain of this ship to find out everything I can. And I don't think it's nonsense at all, is it? You haven't exactly been avoiding one another. Mrs Robinson and I particularly admired your talent in the waltz yesterday evening," Jack commented.

Bennett fumed for a few moments, then clearly came to a decision.

"All right, damn you. Yes. I've asked Angie to marry me and she's accepted."

"Are you lovers?" Jack shot back. He caught Bennett by surprise, and knew the answer instantly. "That's a yes, then. So, when's the happy day?"

"I should rearrange your face, Robinson."

"Bennett, your fiancee's father has been murdered. I would have thought you would be interested in finding out who did it."

Bennett looked at him consideringly. And clearly came to a decision.

"I know who did it. Me."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

The atmosphere in Jack and Phryne's cabin was, it had to be said, tense. This was largely due to the fact that there were two people in it who were both claiming to have committed the same capital crime. And who also loved each other. And cordially loathed the sleuths who had placed them in this invidious position, who were also seated around the dining table. With the windows to the balcony closed for privacy, the room was already becoming uncomfortably hot.

"Why are you saying it was you, David?" asked Angie desperately.

"Because it was, darling," he said firmly. "You know it as well as I do."

Phryne tilted her head.

"All right, David – how?"

He looked at her, confused.

Phryne said calmly, "Jack told you Duval had been electrocuted, but he didn't say how. Why don't you explain to us what you did, and when?"

"I …." He was clearly at a loss. "It was ….." he glanced around the room frantically. "A standard lamp. It's near the pool, and I just tipped it in and switched it on. It took seconds. He was clearly dead, so I just switched it off again and hauled it out."

Jack and Phryne exchanged glances.

"Was that how you did it, Angie?" asked Phryne smoothly.

"It wasn't Angie, it was me!" shouted David angrily.

"Please, David, stop," said Angie wearily. "Yes, Phryne. It was around four a.m. I knew that Father had been in the habit of going to the pool at night, and so I crept up there – sure enough, there he was. David's description's accurate except for one thing – I took out the bulb."

David looked at her, tears building in his eyes.

"Darling, don't do this. You mustn't. I love you, and you mustn't." He turned to Jack. "Robinson, you have to see that it was me. Don't you?"

Jack sighed.

"What I know for certain is that it wasn't either of you. There is no standard lamp. If you're going to confess to a crime, it helps to have committed it."

His words had both of them freeze. They were gripping each others' hands across the dining table, both by now weeping openly. As the realisation sunk in, though, they looked more stunned. And mystified.

It was Phryne who broke the spell.

"So, if it wasn't, in fact, either of you …."

Angie turned to her, her puffy eyes suddenly wide in horror.

" _Mother._

As one, they leaped to their feet and raced to Mrs Duval's cabin. The door was locked, and Angie pounded upon it, calling frantically. Eventually, she was pulled out of the way by Jack and David, who put their shoulders to it. With a splintering sound, it fell open, to reveal Mrs Duval, lying peacefully asleep on the bed.

Except that she wasn't asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

 _My darling Angela,_

 _I am so very sorry. I don't want to leave you, and I wouldn't if I didn't know that David is such a fine young man. Marry him, my beautiful child, and let him look after you. You will, I know, be wonderfully happy._

 _I was not. You know this already, though we didn't often speak of it. Marriage to your father was, quite simply, living hell. The only compensation for all these years has been you. You were worth all of it._

 _I was not about to let him spoil your chance of happiness. Somehow, I was going to find a way to talk him round the problems with David. But then, I realised that there wasn't going to be time. That was when I realised you are expecting a child._

 _You thought I didn't know – my dearest, dearest girl, a mother will always know. The occasional sickness. The change of your tastes. That wonderful glow that you have developed. The dressmaker, of course._

 _I am sorry I will not meet my grandchild, but because of what I have done, I know that you will have the chance to bring him or her up in a house filled with the love that ours has lacked._

 _It was so very easy to kill Vernon. Once I'd seen the carpenter working on replacing part of the deck at night with his lamp, I knew how I could do it. I followed Vernon to the pool, waited for him to settle on the board, and then slipped the lamp into the pool and turned it on. It took seconds._

 _Seconds, to rid us all of a torment that has blighted all of our lives up to this point, and could easily have ruined the rest of yours and David's._

 _Please, my darling, will you do your very best to be happy? Be as happy as you possibly can. It will make all of this worthwhile._

 _I am going to take the rest of his digitalis now. There is quite a lot, so I think it will be enough._

 _Goodbye, my beautiful child. Tell David I said he must look after you, and he has my blessing._

 _God be with you._

 _Mother._


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Hollister, Phryne and Jack leaned in a row against the ship's railing, watching the Yemen landscape slide slowly past.

"Do you think they'll be okay?" asked Phryne.

"David and Angie? I think so," replied Jack. "When they start out by offering their lives to each other, there's no doubting their commitment – even if Angie knew she was pregnant. She must have realised she was likely to have her sentence commuted from death to life imprisonment."

"I must thank you both," Hollister said. "To resolve this dreadful matter so quickly, and so quietly was remarkable. You warrant the heartfelt thanks of the Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation company, and I will make sure they know that."

He turned to face them, leaning one arm on the rail.

"It's occurred to me to ask – I do have quite a lot of powers on this vessel, and one of them might come in handy for you both, should you so choose. It hasn't escaped my notice that you're more than a little fond of one another."

Jack looked at Phryne.

Phryne looked at Jack.

Then she spoke.

"Very much more than a little, Captain. But neither of us has had the best experience with marriage in the past – our own, or those in our families – and I think in any case we've got quite a lot more fun to have first – wouldn't you say, Jack?"

He took her hand, kissed it, and folded it into his arm.

"An awful lot more fun, Miss Fisher."

A/N

It is a popular misconception that a ship's captain can perform a legally binding marriage ceremony. However, there is one case where the courts decreed that precisely that had happened. For more information, see Fisher vs Fisher (1929). Yes, really.


End file.
